


A Reasonable Explanation

by stygius



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Multi, lots of jokes about the Kiss of Styx, mentions of Thanatos/Zagreus/Megaera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 02:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stygius/pseuds/stygius
Summary: "You don't need to repay me. I want to help," he says. Patroclus gets an insightful air about him, as if something has clicked into place for him. Zagreus thinks it's good that one of them knows what's going on. He babbles on. "If there's ever anything else I can do—relay messages while Achilles is away, or other concerns you might have about—"Patroclus reaches out to pluck the stray leaf from Zagreus' shoulder. Or at least that is what Zagreus assumes. His hand is surprisingly solid, and it lingers. "I've a thought, actually."Then he kisses Zagreus.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 158





	A Reasonable Explanation

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly a month ago I made [a funny tweet](https://twitter.com/stygiusfic/status/1361354640353353738?s=20) about PatZag kisses, and it did the rounds, so I thought, ah, well, I'll write something short and cute for that idea. Ha, haha! Well, 10K later, here we are. Huge thanks to everyone who encouraged me when I shared WIP snippets on twitter, and to Ana for the beta. The final scene took quite a bit of wrangling, but I hope it lives up to expectations!

When Zagreus sees the symbol of Patroclus' chamber on the door before him, he dashes through without a second thought. 

Circumspection catches up with him on the other side. He halts in the threshold, jogging in place, and strains his ears for Patroclus and Achilles' voices—just to make sure he isn't interrupting anything. It's happened before. More than once he's rushed headlong into the chamber only to be greeted by muffled laughter, the rustle of cloth, and Patroclus' hushed whisper of _hold on, someone's coming_. 

Zagreus does his best not to dwell on the warmth of Patroclus' voice at those moments, or the light flush on Achilles' cheeks when they're speaking afterward. They always act as though nothing is amiss, and so Zagreus resists the urge to apologize, and shoves every inappropriate thought about the two of them _like that_ to the very back of his mind. 

Unfortunately for him, those thoughts tend to resurface at the worst possible times. Just now, for example, as Achilles' voice carries across the glade:

"You're incorrigible, Pat." Breathless; Zagreus has never heard him like that. Shades don't need air, as far as he knows, and yet Achilles sounds like he can't get enough. 

Patroclus mutters something unintelligible, low and rumbling and strangely muted, as if spoken against cloth or skin to dampen the sound. 

And then Achilles again, "You'll make me late for my shift, my love."

Carried on the still air of Elysium, Zagreus hears the unmistakable sound of a kiss. Just one. A quick kiss. Followed by another. He stares pointedly at the grass smoking under his feet. He is by the entrance and he isn't thinking about kisses. It occurs to him then that they may not have heard him enter, if they're otherwise occupied. And he can't turn around, but staying put and eavesdropping isn't right. 

Panicking, he throws Varatha at a nearby pot, which shatters loudly. A fistful of obols are revealed among the debris. 

"That's a lot of coin!" Zagreus exclaims. 

He hears laughter. Achilles' laughter, slightly bashful and beautiful and so incredibly rare, and Zagreus' eyes follow the sound without his permission. Across the river, to the place where they greet him every time.

Before he can ascertain the situation—not to pry, just to be sure it's okay to approach—a familiar column of white light flashes there in the distance. When it fades, Patroclus calls, "Hail, stranger."

Zagreus takes a steadying breath and crosses the bridge. His face feels nearly as hot as his feet, and his only hope is that the blood and dirt of his escape may hide his blush. It's a far-fetched hope at best, if the amused glint in Patroclus' eyes is any indication.

"I'm afraid you just missed Achilles," Patroclus says, in that tone of voice he has that sounds like he's laughing. It's probably Zagreus he's laughing at. "If only you had arrived a few moments sooner. Alas, he had to return to his duties in your father's House, and so I'm left to greet you alone."

His beard doesn't quite hide the upturned corners of his mouth. Zagreus feels a little light-headed. From being on the receiving end of that smile and, also, probably, from blood loss. 

"You're a sight for sore eyes, sir. Barely made it here this time." 

"So it appears." Patroclus sighs and gives a minute shake of his head. The motion causes Zagreus to notice his laurels are askew. Perhaps disturbed by Achilles' hands in his hair; Zagreus resolves not to think about it. "I assume you'll be taking the Kiss of Styx Premium this time, then."

"Yes, please," Zagreus replies. A little too fast, perhaps. He laughs. "What a funny name, isn't it, sir. _Kiss of Styx_. I wonder who came up with it."

Patroclus hums, non-committal. From that sound, it's impossible to guess at his thoughts. He retrieves the silver vial from a small pile on the grass and hands it to Zagreus. The cloak around his shoulders is wrapped looser than usual, as though thrown on in a hurry.

"What I mean is the Styx has hands, but no mouth as far as I know," Zagreus continues.

"Merely a poetic turn of phrase, then, I'm sure." Patroclus' lips twitch as though he's holding back laughter. 

And Zagreus has the mortifying realization that Patroclus knows he overheard the two of them. Which shouldn't alarm him—he broke the pots to announce his presence, after all—but it does make it very difficult not to have several thoughts he's not supposed to be having.

"I'm sorry Achilles had to leave you so soon," he blurts out, still clutching Patroclus' offering in his hand, unused. "I asked him before if I should try to negotiate longer breaks for him, but he wouldn't hear of it. Said he's already been exceedingly fortunate in being allowed to visit you here... Perhaps you might convince him to allow me the attempt, sir, next you speak to him."

Patroclus chuckles and, to Zagreus' surprise, shakes his head. "As much as I'd love to have him always beside me, I'm inclined to agree with him, stranger. You've already done so much for us, it would be greedy to ask any more, wouldn't you say?" 

"Nonsense, Patroclus, sir. You deserve happiness, both of you." In his earnestness he forgets his nerves and smiles at Patroclus, who is the love of Achilles' life and, sometimes, makes Zagreus' heart beat a little faster than it ought. "I'm just glad if I can contribute to that in some small part."

Patroclus smiles back. "Come now, I wouldn't say it's small, what you've done for us already. We have no hope of repaying you as it is." 

He speaks with his usual wry humor, but the despondent edge that used to line it has since been melted down to something warmer. A nervous fluttering starts in Zagreus' stomach and spreads through his body, making his skin tingle. He hears the crackle of his laurels grow louder and feels a golden leaf fall on his bare shoulder; he feels like he's waiting for something but he doesn't know what.

"You don't need to repay me. I want to help," he says. Patroclus gets an insightful air about him, as if something has clicked into place for him. Zagreus thinks it's good that one of them knows what's going on. He babbles on. "If there's ever anything else I can do—relay messages while Achilles is away, or other concerns you might have about—" 

Patroclus reaches out to pluck the stray leaf from Zagreus' shoulder. Or at least that is what Zagreus assumes. His hand is surprisingly solid, and it lingers. "I've a thought, actually."

Then he kisses Zagreus. 

And Zagreus, who not so long ago was in the doorway vainly trying not to think about this, now knows he isn't going to be able to think of anything else. His daydreams don't hold a candle to the kiss itself. Patroclus' beard tickles his chin, and his lips are soft against Zagreus'. It must be some sort of mistake, but it feels too intent, too pleasant. By the time his mind catches up to reality, Patroclus is pulling away.

There's only one explanation that makes sense. "Is that a message for Achilles, sir?"

Patroclus scoffs. "No, stranger. My Achilles will get his own when he finishes his shift. That was for you."

"For me to give to Achilles."

"Just for you." Patroclus repeats, and then chuckles as he says, "That said, if you were to relay that, I doubt he would mind."

"I understand," says Zagreus, not understanding at all.

He realizes he's been quiet a moment too long when the smile on Patroclus' beautiful soft mouth falters. "Stranger... Zagreus. If I've overstepped, you have my sincerest apologies. Achilles and I thought... well, it hardly matters. I hope you won't think poorly of me if I've misinterpreted the situation."

Every word sends Zagreus further spiralling into this strange new reality in which nothing makes sense and everything is wonderful. He stops trying to wrap his head around it. He just grins at Patroclus, utterly in a daze, and starts talking without a care for the words coming out of his mouth. 

"Oh, no, not at all, please, sir, Patroclus. I can't imagine thinking poorly of you _or_ Achilles. Especially not after... _that_. I'll be thinking very fondly about it, rather frequently I think, if that's alright with you."

He laughs, aware that his face must be the color of his chiton. The bottom drops out of his stomach when Patroclus chuckles—chuckles _at_ _Zagreus_ , in the exact same way Zagreus has heard him chuckle at Achilles before. "That's more than alright with me. I'm pleased to know I was correct."

"Wow," Zagreus says eloquently. "Yes. Hold on, please allow me, I'm just. Here."

He grabs a fistful of Patroclus' cloak, which has a scratchy woolen texture that is real and not a product of Zagreus' imagination. Patroclus' eyes widen a fraction, and Zagreus pulls him down to kiss him again. Just to double-check. Patroclus kisses him back at once, and it's even better than before.

"Wow," Zagreus repeats, when they part. He glances down and sees he's left soot stains on the fabric in his hand. He forces himself to let go. "Sorry, I'm filthy. I didn't find any fountain chambers this time around."

Patroclus chuckles again, as though Zagreus said something particularly funny. "You needn't worry about that." He lets his hand slide off Zagreus' shoulder, and he's holding the laurel leaf between two fingers when he withdraws. Its golden hues look too bright against his dark skin. "I spent ten years at war. We didn't have the luxury of bathing in divine purifying waters before stumbling into our tent, back then."

"Oh." He has never thought about Achilles and Patroclus together during the mortals' war. It felt disrespectful, knowing how much pain that time brought them both. But there must have been good moments as well. Stumbling into their tent. Dirty from their battles. Hands all over each other, pulling at the straps of their armor. Zagreus has to summon Varatha to lean his weight on it. "Right."

"If you intend to think fondly about that as well, might I suggest doing so after dealing with your father's forces. The Kiss will go to waste if you're distracted." 

"The kiss, sir?"

Patroclus raises his eyebrows and nods at the silver vial still tucked in Zagreus' off hand. 

"Oh, _the Kiss_." Zagreus clears his throat. "Right. Of course. Thank you for that, as always, sir."

"My pleasure." Patroclus' eyes are knowing and full of mirth, and it takes a great deal of self-restraint not to kiss him again. He holds up the leaf. "I think I shall keep this in exchange this time, stranger, if you've no use for it."

"Please, sir, it's yours. I shed them all the time when I'm nervous or excited or—well, I won't be running out, if that's your concern. I should go." 

Patroclus laughs and gestures to the doors. "Leave me to my own distracting thoughts then, if you must." He bends down to retrieve a half-full bottle of Ambrosia that Zagreus hadn't noticed until now. It makes his heart swell to think Patroclus might have been enjoying one of his gifts with Achilles, and he lingers, smiling from ear to ear, until Patroclus says, "Godspeed, Zagreus." 

"See you next time, Patroclus, sir."

He's made it nearly all the way to the door, trailing blood and smoke behind him, when Patroclus calls, "Give Achilles our regards, if you would." 

Zagreus laughs, slightly hysterical at the thought, and runs through the door without looking at the symbol. Patroclus' amused chortle is cut off when the massive door clangs shut. 

And there Zagreus stands in the chamber of something or other, giddy with blood loss and the high of the past few minutes, and watches the grass of Elysium light up with the wretches' glyphs, which look similar to the glyph used by Achilles—Achilles, his kind and wise and handsome mentor and friend, whom Zagreus might or might not kiss on Patroclus' behalf or his own when he gets home, _gods._

After that, everything happens very quickly. 

Exalted Greatshields rise out of the glyphs. They send a wave of purple light at Zagreus, who rolls out of the way and feels his bruised ribs protest the movement. _Huh_ , he thinks. 

He looks down at his off hand, bloodied and dirty, and sees the Kiss of Styx Premium still tucked in it, unused. 

He hears the whoosh of an arrow through the air and sees a flash of purple at the edge of his vision. He looks up. He's standing directly in front of a trap, out of Death Defiances and out of time to drink Patroclus' gift. 

His last words are, "Oh, you can't be serious." 

The trap arrow pierces his chest, and he dies with an incredulous laugh on his lips. 

* * *

He's still laughing when he walks out of the Styx, down in the House of Hades.

The blood of the river slides off of Zagreus as he climbs the steps, and what sticks in his hair is easily shaken off. As he emerges, the last moments of his life linger in his body's awareness, and he touches two fingers to his chest where the arrow pierced his now-racing heart. No gaping wound remains. He looks down at his left hand and, of course, Patroclus' wasted gift is similarly gone without a trace.

Everything suffered and gained on the way up is lost on the way down. Zagreus dies and is born anew. Yet while his relatives' boons have faded, the memory of Patroclus' mouth on his persists.

Zagreus stands at the edge of the Pool for a brief moment, smiling, and then he can't bear to stand still any longer. He dashes past the groups of loitering shades, past Hypnos' post, making a straight line for Cerberus. 

There, he stops. 

And as the Hound of Hell rouses from his 7:48 nap, Zagreus glances left, to the West Hall, where Achilles stands guard. At that exact moment Achilles seems to notice him as well. Zagreus' heart stutters inside his ribcage and all he can think of is Patroclus' rumbling voice saying _if you were to relay that, I doubt he would mind._

And then, a memory from another time long past: Achilles' voice warning _always watch your flank, lad._

Too late. Zagreus turns back to his dog just in time to see a great molten red tongue loll out of Cerberus' leftmost mouth. 

The hound licks a long wet swipe from Zagreus' waist up to his head, and he laughs, powerless to do anything but laugh and surrender to that enthusiastic greeting. Only once Cerberus relents is Zagreus able to scratch his chin as usual, and then he steps closer and hugs the hound around that neck, burying his face in the short crimson fur.

His father makes a derisive comment from the desk, but Zagreus doesn't listen. He allows himself a moment to bask in the comfort of Cerberus' welcoming warmth before stepping back and, with a deep breath, readying himself to find out if Patroclus was right or not.

As he turns into the West Hall, Achilles bows from the waist. Before his golden curls fall over his face, Zagreus catches a glimpse of his smile. It's still there on his lips when he stands upright again. 

"You're back sooner than I expected, lad... and yet you seem in fine spirits. Did something good happen?"

Zagreus can't help grinning at the question. "It's Patroclus, sir. He... he had some wisdom to impart, when I passed by his chamber." 

Achilles' expression softens beyond the usual. "Indeed? What was it, if I may ask?"

"It's..." Unbidden, Zagreus' eyes flit to Achilles' upturned mouth. Patroclus too was smiling when they kissed; perhaps Achilles would show that same fondness, if they— 

From down the hall, Dusa starts humming, and Zagreus nearly jumps out of his skin. 

He remembers himself: standing very much in public, with his chiton sticking to his chest and his hair damp with infernal hound drool. Not the best circumstances for making an advance on the man he has idolized for what feels like forever. He looks up and sees Achilles regarding him with apparent concern. 

"You know what, I'd rather not discuss this here, if that's alright, sir. Perhaps we could... speak more privately next you're free?"

Achilles nods. "I shouldn't leave my post so soon after returning, but I shall meet you in the lounge during my next break if you'd like."

Zagreus takes a deep breath to steel himself, then says, "Actually, it might be best if you met me in my chambers, if that's alright with you, sir. I'd rather not be overheard."

"Of course, lad." For a moment it looks as though Achilles might reach out to place a comforting hand on Zagreus' shoulder, but seems to restrain himself. Or perhaps it's just Zagreus' mind recalling that gesture in Patroclus earlier and hoping for similar cues. "Is everything alright?"

"More than," Zagreus replies. He hopes he's right. "I'll wait for you there, then, sir."

He's never been good at waiting.

He manages well enough at first, finding tasks to occupy himself. He takes some time to clean up in the private baths in that wing of the House, considers throwing on one of his fancier chitons of varied colors that he never wears. Would Achilles be surprised to find him dressed more elegantly? Would that give away just how desperately Zagreus wants this? And what's worse: would that revelation make Achilles uncomfortable if he doesn't want the same? 

Zagreus knows that Achilles cares for him deeply. He has proven himself a true friend and supported Zagreus every step of the way. But it's entirely possible that Patroclus has misjudged the nature of that affection. Achilles already rejected his romantic advances once, and the last thing Zagreus wants to do is give the impression that he can't take no for an answer. 

So he changes into a clean version of his usual red outfit. He then tidies up the mess of his bedchambers as best he can, shoving the clothes and trinkets strewn about the floor into his two already overflowing trunks and covering them with artfully draped blankets. 

He takes down the wall scroll of Achilles, then changes his mind and puts it back up. It's not as though his crush on Achilles hasn't been obvious for quite some time, after all. And yet maybe taking it down would be better. He spends an indefinite length of time debating what to do, pacing up and down the room, needing that momentum to keep his doubts from catching up with him. 

Then he hears the whisper of the curtain at the entrance, and glances up to see Achilles standing there. He paints a stunning picture, golden curls and olive cloak bright against the black and purple of the threshold. 

"You're here." Zagreus is surprised at how even his voice comes out, considering the jumble of his emotions.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, lad. May I come in?"

"Please, sir."

Achilles walks in and rests his spear against the wall. It's such a simple gesture, and yet it strikes Zagreus as an intimate one. As if Achilles is leaving at the door the part of himself that is a guard in his father's employ, the part that is Zagreus' combat instructor, the part that stands serenely at Patroclus' side in Elysium and pretends they hadn't just been tangled up in each other before Zagreus' arrival. Without the spear ready in his hand, he is just Achilles, Zagreus' close friend. 

His eyes flit to the wall scroll of himself, and the shadow of some emotion flickers across his expression, but it's gone before Zagreus can tell if it's good or bad. He faces away from the image and toward Zagreus, his hands hanging at his sides. 

"What is it that you wished to discuss with me, lad? You mentioned Patroclus." He peers at Zagreus as though trying to divine his thoughts, and Zagreus realizes then, with startling clarity, that Achilles is nervous. "You seemed rather cheerful before, but you're fidgeting now. I must know, is everything alright?" 

"It is, sir. There's no risk to your arrangement with my father, if that's what you're concerned about." And it must be, because Achilles lets out a sigh of relief. It's only after he relaxes that Zagreus realizes how tense he was before. "It's... something else. There's really no good way to bring it up, though."

"I won't be upset, lad, whatever it is," Achilles promises. Zagreus believes him.

He takes a step forward and makes himself look Achilles in the eye as he says, "When I was with Patroclus earlier, in Elysium, he... he kissed me, sir. On the lips, I mean." 

Achilles' eyes widen a fraction, but he says nothing right away, and Zagreus continues talking, unable to bear that inscrutable silence. 

"I had just asked him if I could still help the two of you in any way, because I care about you both and I want to see you happy as you deserve, and he kissed me. And I... well, I thought it was supposed to be a message for you, at first. The kiss."

"Oh, Zagreus." Achilles says the name so tenderly it makes Zagreus' breath catch. He doesn't sound upset. "Pat absolved you of that notion, I hope?"

It's not the response Zagreus expected. As in the glade, he feels like he's on the edge of a revelation. "He... said the kiss was meant for me, yes. He said something else as well."

"And what was that?"

Zagreus hesitates. His heart is so loud in his ears that he thinks Achilles must hear it too. He's excited and terrified at once. Achilles is in his room, in front of him, and his smile makes nearly imperceptible creases appear around his eyes. He's real. It's hard to believe what his expression seems to convey, but there's one way to know for sure. Zagreus takes another step forward, just shy of invading Achilles' space. 

"He said he didn't think you'd mind if I gave you that kiss anyway." 

Achilles huffs out a laugh, but he isn't laughing at Zagreus, and he doesn't step back. "Oh, Patroclus. That does sound like something he'd say." 

"Would you? Mind it, I mean." Zagreus licks his lips nervously, and his stomach flips when he sees Achilles glance down at his mouth. "If I relayed that kiss to you." 

To his dismay, Achilles looks almost sad then. It isn't the discomfort Zagreus had feared, but it isn't encouraging either. He tries to muster a smile to ease his way out of the conversation, but Achilles reaches out to touch his shoulder before he can step back. 

"Is that what you want?" he asks, watching Zagreus as intently as before. "To relay Pat's kiss?"

Zagreus shakes his head, lets out a wry laugh. "Not quite, no." He knows he doesn't need to elaborate.

Achilles nods. "Listen to me, lad. Zagreus." His voice is kind and warm in spite of whatever he must be thinking. "If not for you, I would never have even allowed myself to hope I might see Patroclus again—much less be able to travel to his side in Elysium with but a thought. I can kiss him myself, almost as often as I'd like, rather than cling to a memory. All thanks to you." Here Achilles pauses, as though gathering his courage to continue, but Zagreus can't imagine what he would be afraid of. "You deserve better than to be relegated to a mere go-between." 

His hand on Zagreus' shoulder isn't the steadying grip so familiar from him. It's softer, a tentative caress of his callused palm over newly reborn skin, and Zagreus can't help leaning into it. He wants to reassure Achilles that neither of them owe him anything, but he senses Achilles isn't done talking, so he waits.

"This isn't the conversation I was expecting to have when I came here," Achilles says after a moment, with a wry smile that makes Zagreus chuckle in sympathy. "Forgive me, I'm making a mess of it, aren't I." 

"You're doing fine, sir."

"You're too kind." He slides his hand up to cup Zagreus' jaw—gingerly, like he's afraid to spook him. Zagreus forgets to breathe. "What I'm trying to say... and I wouldn't dare to presume anything, but... if you wish to kiss me, Zagreus, I would prefer you do it for yourself, rather than in Pat's stead." 

Zagreus searches his face for any signs that he's misheard or misinterpreted those words, but finds none. Achilles' thumb brushes small circles over his cheek, so gentle it makes Zagreus shiver. He reaches up to touch Achilles' neck, to nudge him down, and Achilles allows it. 

"Then this one's from me, Achilles, sir," Zagreus says, and kisses him.

At that first contact Achilles sucks in a breath and tenses against him, as if he did not actually expect Zagreus to kiss him. It's hard to blame him; Zagreus can't quite believe it himself. 

But he knows his imagination isn't good enough to supply this level of detail: the soft pressure on his lips, Achilles' tentative touch on his waist, his scent of incense and the sweet-smelling grass of Elysium. Zagreus lays his palm flat against Achilles' chest and is surprised to feel, through the layers of protection there and in Achilles' neck, the flutter of a pulse. 

He has no time to wonder if such a thing is common among shades, because just then Achilles starts kissing him back. 

Not merely accepting the kiss, but actively encouraging and returning it. His thumb brushes the corner of Zagreus' mouth, feather-light, and Zagreus parts his lips and hears himself moan when Achilles' tongue brushes against his. 

Zagreus clings to him, weak-kneed and glad for the steadying hand on his waist. He can't think. His neck is getting sore, but it doesn't matter. Achilles kisses him slowly, deliberately, but there's an underlying heat to it that says he isn't merely humoring Zagreus. He wants this, just like Patroclus said. It's all the confirmation Zagreus needs to step closer and bury his fingers in Achilles' soft curls, needing to feel more of him.

Achilles seems equally eager—his hold on Zagreus' waist tightens, as though to pull him in—and then, unexpectedly, he eases the kiss and withdraws. His hand on Zagreus' face keeps him from following. 

"Hold on, lad." His eyes are still closed, and he sucks in a shaky breath. He sounded breathless in the glade with Patroclus, too, but he was laughing then. He isn't now.

"Did I do something wrong?" Zagreus thinks back to the last few moments, scrambling to find an explanation. "Should I not have touched your hair? I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to—"

"Hush, no, you were perfect." Achilles brushes Zagreus' hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead, another to his temple. Placating and gentle, unbearably so.

Zagreus' mind reels, caught between the passion of their embrace moments ago and the chasteness of Achilles' touch now. Trying to make sense of it, he removes his hand from Achilles' neck and steps back to give him space if he needs it. Achilles' throat is at eye level for Zagreus, and he watches it bob as Achilles speaks again. 

"Let's take a seat, if that's alright." 

The bed is, perhaps, not a good idea. 

Zagreus perches on the recliner instead, tucking his legs against his chest. Almost immediately he thinks better of the position and puts his feet down on the floor. Straightens his back. It's torture to refrain from tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor. Achilles joins him, neatly folding his cloak under him as he sits. 

Zagreus tries to keep his insecurity out of his voice when he says, "It's okay if you're not sure about this, sir."

He digs his fingers into the upholstery in an effort not to fidget. Achilles sees, and places his hand on top, gently prying Zagreus' grip loose. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

He watches as Achilles takes his hand, turns it facing up and starts to massage it gingerly, applying pressure on the heel of Zagreus' palm with his thumbs. It's a pleasant sensation, and very distracting. It corrals the doubts running through Zagreus' mind, for the moment, and anchors his attention to the tingling of his nerves under Achilles' touch.

"You're worried because I turned you down once before," Achilles says, though it takes Zagreus a moment to parse the words. Once he does, he nods. "Allow me to explain, then. It wasn't out of a lack of interest. Rather, I feared it wouldn't be fair to you if I accepted your affections while Patroclus so occupied my thoughts."

"I'd never want to stand between the two of you. Not then and not now either." He looks at Achilles, uncertain. Something new and unknown seems to hang behind Achilles' words, and Zagreus tries to map its shape from Achilles' expression and the cadence of his voice. The touch of Achilles' hands doesn't feel like the prelude to a rejection. "How do you feel now, sir?"

"Now, I feel it's high time I took my own advice." Achilles chuckles, wry. He folds Zagreus' fingers into his palm, covering them with his own, and sighs. "Do you remember what I said to you when you expressed concern about the changing nature of your relationships with Thanatos and Megaera?" 

"You said I should follow my heart."

"That I did. And it worked out well, did it not?"

Zagreus smiles at the thought of his other partners. "Yes, sir. It did." He looks up to meet Achilles' eyes. "My heart belongs to them, as it does to you, Achilles, and to Patroclus. If you want it."

Achilles brings Zagreus' hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles, the inside of his wrist. 

"I do, if you would have me. And... I can confidently say Pat is of the same mind, else he would not have kissed you." Zagreus' breath catches, and he feels the curve of Achilles' smile against his skin. "I should have been more honest with you, when you came to me before." 

His mouth is warm, and his breath raises goosebumps on Zagreus' skin. He remembers how it felt to have those lips on his. Imagines how they might feel elsewhere.

"It's okay. You're here now." He hears the breathlessness in his own voice, and has to close his eyes. It only makes the sensation of Achilles' mouth all the more intense. He might be embarrassed about how worked up he's getting over this if he weren't so thrilled that it's happening. "Gods, Achilles. I can't think like this."

"Apologies, lad. Zagreus." 

He doesn't sound all that sorry. Zagreus wants to tell him there's no need to correct himself on the pet name, but he isn't confident he can get a coherent sentence out at that moment. So he shakes his head. 

"You paint quite an alluring picture when you're flushed like that." Achilles plants another kiss over his pulse, and when Zagreus shivers he withdraws, running fingers over the skin as if to soothe. "You'll have to excuse me. I don't mean to overwhelm you."

"Is that why you held back when we were kissing? To keep from overwhelming me?"

Zagreus opens his eyes. He sees the answer plain in the way Achilles' gaze traces his features, down his throat and the line of his exposed shoulder. Achilles licks his lips before replying, "Yes."

"Oh, good," Zagreus says. Relieved by that explanation, and uninterested in questioning it further when he could be taking a hands-on approach. "Well, no need to be concerned on that front, sir. Feel free to overwhelm me. I'm sure I'd like it."

That shocks a laugh out of Achilles. "Good to know," he replies, and draws Zagreus in.

The second kiss is very different from the first.

Achilles was tentative before; this time, he leaves no room for doubt. He deepens the kiss almost at once, controlling the pace as before, but he does not recoil when Zagreus crawls closer. Yet sitting side by side, it's impossible to get close enough. 

Frustrated, Zagreus throws a leg over Achilles' lap, trying to readjust their position without breaking the kiss, and moans when Achilles hooks a hand under his thigh to keep him from sliding off—a very plausible concern. The recliner isn't made for this, it's too narrow, and it's difficult to arrange themselves while otherwise occupied. And, in spite of all that, that kiss is better than any Zagreus might have imagined.

Achilles' other hand finds Zagreus' waist, and he draws back. At Zagreus' plaintive whine he shushes him gently, presses quick kisses on the corner of his mouth to soothe him. 

"Let me, lad," he whispers, and Zagreus isn't sure what he means, but he answers, "Yes." 

Achilles' grip on him tightens; a heartbeat later Zagreus' perspective flips and he finds himself laid out flat against the back of the recliner, with Achilles kneeling between his legs. He's laughing, no doubt at the dumbstruck look on Zagreus' face, and there's a hint of mischief in his eyes that Zagreus has never seen before. He feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs.

"Alright, lad?" Achilles traces fingers along the hem of his chiton to a point above his sternum. "You're flushed down to here."

Zagreus laughs, dizzy with want. "I'm told it's a great look on me." He tugs on Achilles' chlamys, which has the same rough texture as Patroclus'. "Come on, Achilles. Please." 

Achilles' expression softens, and his voice is infinitely tender when he says, "Hush, love. No need to beg." 

That term of endearment has Zagreus squirming under him, well beyond caring about containing his reactions. There's no point in trying, seeing as Achilles doesn't seem at all deterred by his enthusiasm anymore. He lowers himself to trail kisses up the line of Zagreus' throat, along the path his eyes had traced before, and Zagreus cranes his head back to let him, only distantly aware of the pleased sounds spilling from his lips. 

He clutches Achilles' shoulders—feeling the strength of Achilles' muscles on the left side, and the disappointing touch of wool on the right. Achilles finds the sensitive spot under his jaw, and Zagreus' eyes flutter closed in pleasure. 

When they open again they latch onto the wall scroll, perfectly visible from this angle: mortal Achilles, best of the Greeks. That heroic depiction is in every way inferior to the weight of the real Achilles pinning him to the recliner—in every way except for that, in the wall scroll, Achilles' skirt is short, showing off muscular thighs. Zagreus' grip on his shoulders clenches briefly, fantasizing. 

"You wear too many clothes, sir," he complains, breathless, slipping trembling hands under the chlamys only to find the barrier of the armor underneath. "Is this part of your uniform? If so, I'm— _ah, yes,_ _keep doing that_ —I'm filing a complaint."

Achilles laughs, and the huff of breath tickles Zagreus' damp skin. "And, pray tell, what manner of complaint would that be, oh Prince?"

"Failure to comply with—with the general dress code. Even Hypnos' cape is breezier than all this." That makes Achilles laugh again, and Zagreus loves the sound of it, so he keeps talking. "I'm sure there's a form I can get from the administrative chamber. Nyx would know."

Achilles is smiling when he captures Zagreus' mouth in another kiss, sweet and lingering. His curls fall forward, tickling Zagreus' face, and Zagreus brushes them back carefully, marveling at their softness and the pleased hum Achilles makes into his mouth. He sighs when they part, looking down at Zagreus with a fondness that makes his heart ache.

And there's a shadow of something else behind his eyes too: a peculiar bitter longing Zagreus is familiar with, having seen it many times in Thanatos' amber gaze.

"You have to go back to your post soon, don't you."

"I'm afraid so. My shift is not yet over; I only took a short break to come speak with you." He looks sheepish then, as Zagreus groans beneath him, and adds, "Well. We _have_ spoken, I suppose. Before this."

He places a smattering of kisses on Zagreus' cheeks, his brow, the corner of his jaw. Playful, as if he can't help himself. When he pulls back his hair is in utter disarray, and he's still smiling. 

Zagreus lets him extricate himself with a breathless chuckle, giddy in spite of his disappointment. Achilles rearranges his rumpled clothing more firmly around himself, which is the opposite of what Zagreus wishes he would do, and additional proof that this isn't a dream. If it were, the situation would develop in a much different direction.

"I'm filing _two_ complaints, sir, I'll have you know." He watches Achilles straighten his laurels before the Mirror of Night. "The second one will be to demand longer breaks for you. I'm sure there's a form for that as well in the stacks somewhere. Gamma psi delta folder, or something."

"While I appreciate the thought, lad, I must decline again." Achilles sounds serious, but Zagreus doesn't miss the upward twitch of his lips. "Besides, even if you were to apply for such an allowance, I'd still have to leave now. Such petitions require some time for processing."

"Not if I pester my father about it enough," Zagreus points out, only half-joking. "Just... let me know if you change your mind."

Achilles chuckles and smooths the cloak around his shoulders. Preparing to return to the hall, calm and composed as ever, as though he had not just been kissing the air out of Zagreus' lungs.

He's nearly done putting himself together when he finds something caught in the folds of the fabric, and frowns; then, his expression smooths over when he realizes what it is. Pinched between his fingers, gleaming in the low light of the braziers, is a crimson leaf from Zagreus' crown.

"You can keep it, if you like," Zagreus says, remembering Patroclus in the glade.

Achilles smiles. "I believe I shall. Thank you, lad." He tucks it underneath his bracer, so only a hint of red peeks out, then turns to Zagreus. There's a tinge of melancholy in his lovely voice as he says, "I should go now, but I expect I'll see you soon. In Elysium, perhaps?"

"Definitely, sir. I'm sure Patroclus must be waiting to hear the details."

"Oh, I've no doubt of it." Achilles chuckles again. It's such a mirthful sound, so distant from the self-deprecating laugh that Zagreus was used to before the amendment of his pact. "Best not to keep him waiting too long. Give him our regards, then."

The same request he received from Patroclus. An euphemism, or at least he's choosing to take it as such. "I will, Achilles. We'll, uh, continue our conversation there."

He doesn't quite intend to make it sound like innuendo, but perhaps the slant of his thoughts bleeds through into his voice, for Achilles draws in a sharp breath and hesitates in reaching for his spear; then his broad shoulders tremble with laughter. Warmth settles in Zagreus' chest, knowing he isn't the only one who's about to have trouble focusing at work.

"As you say, Zagreus," Achilles says, the words fond and promising.

He casts one last lingering look behind him and then slips out through the curtain, leaving Zagreus with a grin he can't shake and some additional motivation to carve his way past the wretches of the realm, as fast as possible, to reach Patroclus' side.

* * *

Patroclus' voice is the only one drifting across the glade when Zagreus enters. At the sound of the door, it trails off into a chuckle, and Zagreus dashes across dead grass toward him, heart pounding in his ears. Patroclus is alone. He watches Zagreus approach with a clever smile that traces ghostly fingers down his spine. 

"Greetings, stranger. Come looking for a kiss?"

The modest pile of premium goods near his feet is the last thing on Zagreus' mind. He glances at it to be polite, but his eyes are quickly drawn up to Patroclus' face again. He realizes he's staring, and laughs. 

"Thanks, sir, but I'm in fairly good shape this time." He brushes nonexistent dust off his chiton, to give his hands something to do, but pauses when Patroclus raises his eyebrows. "Wait. You... weren't offering the Kiss of Styx just now. You meant a real kiss."

"Ah, my clever joke is thus exposed," Patroclus says, eyes full of mirth. "What say you, then?" 

Zagreus feels his face heat up. This time, thanks to the fountain several chambers ago, he doesn't even have the paltry disguise of caked blood and dirt to mask his blush, though he doubts it ever fooled Patroclus. He catches a glimpse of gold in his dark locks and recognizes it as the leaf he shed during their last encounter, carefully tucked among Patroclus' laurels.

Patroclus waits for his answer, though he must know it already, because the corners of his full lips twitch upward when Zagreus glances down at them. He remembers what that mouth felt like on his, and the memory makes him shiver in anticipation.

"Yes, please," he says, hearing the tremor in his own voice, "I'll take that kiss, sir." 

"Then come closer, stranger." 

So Zagreus goes.

Patroclus lets his spear fall on the grass behind him without a glance. He reaches for Zagreus and pulls him in; Zagreus throws his arms around his neck. And then Patroclus is kissing him, and it's even better than he remembered, because this time there's no unspoken question behind it. He kisses Zagreus with the confidence of a lover, welcoming his enthusiasm and repaying it in kind. Zagreus tastes Ambrosia on his tongue.

 _Forget the Kiss of Styx_ , he thinks giddily. **_This_ ** _is a kiss that could bring someone back from the brink of death_. 

A chuckle breaks past the other noises in the back of his throat, and he draws away just far enough to say, "If you're going to refer to both this and the silver vial as _a_ _kiss_ from now on, sir, it's going to be rather confusing for me to tell which one you mean."

"Oh? Simply assume, then, that I'm offering both." Patroclus kisses the corner of Zagreus' jaw, just above his pulse. His beard tickles, and his breath ghosts over the skin, raising goosebumps. "Alas, of the Premium kind I can only give you one, I fear."

There's a joke Zagreus could make here—something about Patroclus' lips on his neck feeling more like _the Premium kind_ —but he has more pressing concerns at the moment. "May I have more than one of _this_ kind, then?"

"As many as you'd like, certainly."

He's never struck Zagreus as the type to make empty promises. "You say that, but I might get greedy."

"And what of it? I hardly know of any gods modest in their appetites, and you're far more considerate than any I've heard of." But he draws back to peer at Zagreus with a shrewd air, as if trying to read hidden meaning in his expression. "That said, I ought to be considerate with you in turn. Know that I won't be upset if you'd rather sit and talk... or go off to fight my Exalted brethren, as you do."

"You mean off to die stupidly in the next chamber because I'm distracted after kissing you," Zagreus corrects him. 

He says it in the way he's learned to say embarrassing things: with a lopsided smile and far more confidence than he feels. Patroclus' answering grin makes up the difference.

"Is that what happened last time? You flatter me, stranger." He certainly looks flattered, even a little smug—an attitude that Zagreus has always been particularly weak to from his partners, and he can't help that his grip momentarily tightens in the fabric of his cloak. Holding on to him. "Especially considering the Kiss of Styx ought to have preserved you quite a while longer than that." 

"I'm sure it would have, sir, had I not... forgotten to drink it."

Patroclus stares down at him; for a moment, he seems at a loss for words. Then, he shakes his head—starts to speak, and a chuckle comes out instead. He's even more handsome when he laughs. Besotted, Zagreus resolves to say embarrassing things more often, though he's likely to do that regardless. 

At length, Patroclus murmurs, "Oh, you really are something else, aren't you." 

It doesn't sound like a bad thing, the way he says it, and his next kiss reinforces that impression. Still, Zagreus doesn't immediately know what to reply. 

"Would that Achilles and I had known of you in life," Patroclus continues, low and velvety, "that we may have worshipped you instead of your relatives."

Blood rushes to Zagreus' face. There's a yawning chasm between allowing himself to believe he may be wanted by both men and imagining their worship. Their Worship. It feels like the word should be capitalized, for the way it morphs into the sensation of Patroclus' lips on his throat. 

"Uh," Zagreus says, eloquently. He feels hot and cold all at once, burning where Patroclus touches him and shivering when he retreats. 

"I suppose, in the end, what's done is done and it's pointless to dwell on it." He speaks as if to himself—as if he has momentarily reverted to a lonely shade by the riverbank—and Zagreus feels compelled to reassert the present, as much for Patroclus' reassurance as his own. He threads beseeching fingers through Patroclus' dark locks and presses closer to him; as long as they are wrapped in each other, as long as Patroclus is touching him, this cannot be a fidget of his imagination. Patroclus hums against his ear in response, there and real, and Zagreus feels his knees go weak. "Though... We've a chance to change that now, no?" His fingers brush up Zagreus' spine, hot on the trail of the shiver his words bring. "To treat you as you deserve." 

As he deserves. If this is a fantasy—one of the many Zagreus has buried at the back of his mind—then it's a detailed one, evocative right down to the tingling of his skin and the burn of his muscles that comes with stretching up into the embrace of a taller lover. 

He tips his head back, ignoring the soreness of his neck, and Patroclus understands and starts to kiss his way down. 

"Sit on the grass with me," Zagreus asks, eyes fluttering closed. 

When he opens them again, he sees a patch under his feet has burned to a dull grey. Another realistic detail. He catches a whiff of strangely sweet smoke as he follows Patroclus down and straddles his lap. 

"Ah, so only I was to sit on the grass, then, and you on top of me," Patroclus jokes. His hands find Zagreus' waist before he can retreat. "No, stay there. That wasn't a complaint, stranger."

Zagreus breathes out a sheepish laugh. Patroclus' touch is light; he brushes his thumb just the barest whisper above the edge of Zagreus' chiton, over his stomach, and it's enough to ruin his first attempt to reply. On the second, he says, "I told you I might get greedy, sir."

Patroclus' eyes look darker, this close. "You're more than welcome to." 

The smile in his voice pulls Zagreus in. He kisses Patroclus with the urgency building inside him, desperate and demanding and expecting to be pushed away and told that he wants too much, more than he can have. 

But Patroclus shudders in response, and it's a mirror of Zagreus' desire. More than that. He feels that tremor as his own through their proximity, feels it up the inside of his thighs bracketing Patroclus' hips. Patroclus growls into the kiss, and his grip on Zagreus' waist tightens—as though Zagreus might even think of going anywhere, when he can't think of anything but him. 

He imagines Patroclus laid out on the grass, chuckling in that breathlessly fond way he directs at Achilles when they're almost alone in the glade. Yet instead of Achilles, Zagreus pictures himself sitting on top of Patroclus, teasing out that laugh and all manner of sweet sounds with his own hushed words, with his touch. 

In order to touch, first—

"Please, sir, let me." Zagreus finds the fibula that fastens Patroclus' cloak around his shoulders. As soon as Patroclus nods, he starts fiddling with the clasp, and notices for the first time the relief on the metal piece. "Is this... Achilles?"

"Indeed it is... and who else should it be, after all?" 

Who else indeed. Zagreus' fingers stutter on the clasp but he gets it open and pushes the material back over Patroclus' broad shoulders. It pools down on the grass behind him, and Zagreus can't resist running his hands over the skin it used to cover, admiring the strength of his arms. Only belatedly does he glance back up at Patroclus' face to make sure he isn't getting ahead of himself. 

He isn't prepared for the fondness he sees in Patroclus' expression, or the hint of mischief in his voice when he adds, "Well. There is one other, in truth... though that one, he hasn't gifted me a brooch with his likeness on it so far."

It takes Zagreus one wonderful, incredulous moment to realize Patroclus means him. 

"A damning oversight on his part," he says, going along with the joke to make Patroclus laugh, which he does, and then, just to be sure it _is_ a joke, "although, is that something you actually want? A brooch with my face on it? I don't own anything like that, although I could probably have one made, if you truly..."

"Hush, Zagreus," Patroclus interrupts. Kisses him again, then again, until Zagreus is hushed and breathing hard and clinging to his shoulders. "You've already given me everything I could have asked for... More than Achilles and I could have ever hoped." 

He means to say _it was nothing_ or _you both deserve it_ but the words get lost somewhere on the way from his brain to his mouth, transformed into a different sound as Patroclus slides a hand down from his waist to his thigh. Not nearing anywhere that might escalate their contact, not just yet, but the thin fabric of Zagreus' leggings does nothing to dampen the promise of that touch. It's an offer waiting for his say-so. 

"You might put aside such thoughtful generosity and allow yourself to _take_ something you want, for a change," Patroclus says. 

He raises his other hand to Zagreus' face and tugs his lower lip free of his teeth. And Zagreus can't think, hears himself talk as if from a distance, muted by the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

"Seems terribly irresponsible to just accept I can have this, sir." His voice sounds pinched, pulled taut with how badly he needs to believe just that. "I know I told you last time, but... neither of you owe me anything, you know." 

Patroclus scoffs. "And has it occurred to you, perhaps, that this has nothing to do with repayment? We can hardly repay the miracles you've worked for us with just a few kisses, besides. I'm quite good with my mouth, but I'm not that good."

" _Well_..."

"Hush, you incorrigible flirt." He pinches Zagreus' thigh, cutting off his disagreement. "Someone very dear to me told me once I should... _open my mind to the fact that there are those who care about me_. Alas, he's quite unwilling to take his own advice."

"Point taken." Zagreus concedes with a laugh, which turns into a sigh as Patroclus flattens his palm and caresses down to his knee, then up again. He stops just a few inches short, again. "I can't quite believe this is happening, but... I'm yours. You can have me any way you want, Patroclus."

Several languid moments are spent with Patroclus disproving his assertions about exactly how good his mouth is. And his hands have nothing to envy. Sure fingers fan up the inside of Zagreus' thigh, brush against the front of his leggings—and past, to hook in his belt.

"Oh, _come on_ , Patroclus."

"You said any way I want." He sounds like he's laughing, and it's certainly aimed at Zagreus. But there's heat in his voice, too. Zagreus meets his eyes, and sees his own thoughts reflected there. So maybe, impossible as this all seems— 

"Maybe I ought to pay more heed to your advice, and take what I want," he says, and grinds down his hips.

He's imagined at length what Patroclus' voice might sound like in pleasure, but the reality is better. Patroclus masks it with another kiss, deep and deliberate, but it's not quite enough. His hands shake on Zagreus' belt, then fumble with it until it comes open, and toss it aside. His pulse is loud enough Zagreus can hear it alongside his own. 

Heart soaring, Zagreus nudges him back until they're lying on the grass. 

The next few moments tumble over each other in a rush. Zagreus shrugs off his unpinned chiton, lets it fall where it may. He gropes blindly at Patroclus' armor, eager to remove that barrier, but it's impossible to tell how it comes off without pulling away to check. He groans, and Patroclus grabs his hips and pulls them flush against his own again. Even through the fabric of his leggings and Patroclus' skirts, it's hard to miss the shape of his arousal. 

The noise that escapes him has no words to it. He feels Patroclus break the kiss and look at him, and Zagreus can't hold his gaze, has to imagine the smugness in his expression from the way he laughs. 

"Please," he gasps. Which is different from _taking_ what he wants, but what he wants is already happening and on course to continue happening, and it's all he can do to hold on to his wits as it does. 

"You're enchanting when you beg, has anyone told you that?"

His stomach swoops as Patroclus lifts his hips and leverages his weight to reverse their position on the grass. Zagreus can do nothing at first but focus on trying to breathe, pinned between the sensation of Patroclus stroking up his bare chest and the solid ground of Elysium at his back. 

"It pleases me I was right about my Achilles," Patroclus says; one of his hands is at Zagreus' throat, tracing the flushed skin where his mouth was before. "Though... I should say _our_ Achilles, now, I guess."

 _Our Achilles_. He might wonder whether Patroclus knows what those two words do to him if he didn't know that every word out of his mouth is fully meant, and purposeful. The purpose being, apparently, to render Zagreus even more incoherent than he already feels. 

"We spoke, briefly," Zagreus says, and a breathless laugh spills out of him at his own euphemism. He's too far gone to provide any sort of lengthy account, but the look in Patroclus' eyes tells him he's grasped the gist of it. He touches two fingers to the corner of Zagreus' jaw. 

"Oh, I can see that. I didn't leave this mark."

The words send fire along Zagreus' every nerve. He writhes under Patroclus and reaches up to touch that spot, as though he might feel the warmth of Achilles' mouth lingering there. 

"You didn't notice?" Patroclus' other hand starts trailing down over his stomach again, so there goes Zagreus' hope of articulating a reply. Patroclus chuckles and continues, "Well, I don't think he noticed either. You bruise more easily than I do. Rather prettily, too, I must say—well, except when you crawl in here looking bludgeoned half to death." 

"I'll take that compliment, sir." Zagreus folds his spread legs up, reaching for the clasps of his greaves, which are familiar and blessedly easy to undo even with shaking fingers. Patroclus leans back as if to help, but Zagreus shakes his head. "I've got it. You can keep going." He shucks them off and plants his feet wide on the grass on either side of Patroclus. "By which I mean, _please keep going_." 

"Oh, I will." The tone of his voice leaves no room for doubt, and Zagreus grins as Patroclus leans down to kiss him quickly. "Though I'm feeling somewhat overdressed, myself, if you don't mind waiting a moment longer..." 

He nods, but can't push down the whine that escapes him when Patroclus removes the hand flat on his stomach and draws back. Zagreus raises himself up on his elbows to get a better look at the way his deft fingers pull at the straps of his cuirass—those Zagreus hadn't been able to find before—and how he removes it and sets it aside. 

Underneath, a swath of blue fabric drapes over his frame and is just as easily shrugged off. Zagreus watches the shift of his muscles as he moves, and feels his mouth run dry. 

"Wow." He has a moment of mindless reverence looking up at Patroclus, and so he doesn't have the wherewithal to filter his thoughts before they spill out of his mouth. "It's a good thing I've never walked in on you and Achilles half out of your clothes like this, or I wouldn't ever have been able to stop thinking about it." 

He realizes what he said a moment too late, when Patroclus raises his eyebrows at him, and feels heat flood his face. 

"Oh, gods, I'm so sorry, sir, I shouldn't have said—" 

Patroclus cuts him off with a laugh. "Hush. I assure you, I'm not bothered in the slightest... I've thought about such an interruption myself." He spreads Zagreus' thighs further apart and finally, finally, his hands tug at the waistband of his leggings. Zagreus hastens to help him, lifting his hips to make the task easier, so consumed with anticipation he nearly misses Patroclus' next words. "I'm quite sure our Achilles has as well, though he'd never admit as much." 

"Blood and darkness," he breathes. Then Patroclus' hand wraps around him, and he can't string words together anymore.

"He shall return soon, I imagine." Patroclus is leaning over him now, and his breath is hot and damp on Zagreus' skin. His low voice quavers when he continues, "Oh, love. The sounds you make. You'd like for him to find us like this, wouldn't you?" Zagreus moans, claws at his shoulders. "I'll take that as a yes. I hope he does, too. You're such a gorgeous sight, spread out under me like this."

Zagreus cries out, and his hips jerk up unbidden. He feels like he might burn from the inside out, and he can hear his laurels crackling, sparking off to dapple the grass around him in red and gold. 

"Look how sweet you are." Patroclus kisses his neck, his jaw, the mark Achilles left. His lips trail fire in their wake, and his eyes are knowing when he draws back. "Tell me, Zagreus: is it sinking in for you yet that we're yours, or shall I have to work harder to persuade you?" 

Before Zagreus can reclaim enough of his wits to answer, there is a flash of bright light in the glade that can only mean one thing. 

"Ah, there he is." Patroclus stills the rhythm of his hand, which is the only reason Zagreus doesn't immediately embarrass himself. "Welcome back, Achilles. Zagreus and I were just wondering when you might be joining us."

Zagreus can't look. But with his eyes scrunched shut, his other senses are thrown into sharp relief. He hears the sharp intake of breath from Achilles, the sound of his spear clattering against Patroclus' when he drops it. Imagines he can feel the vibrations of Achilles' steps on the ground as he approaches. 

"The two of you..." But he can't seem to get any further words out. 

Zagreus hears the rustle of cloth, and a frustrated grunt before fabric flutters down to the ground. Unable to restrain himself, he cranes his head back, trying unsuccessfully to get a glimpse of Achilles undressing. He hears Patroclus chuckle at that brazenness, but he's never quite managed to be subtle around Achilles, and thanks to some improbable luck, he no longer has any reason to try. 

"You can hardly blame us for our impatience," Patroclus teases. His hands pet soothingly down Zagreus' thighs. "Besides, I'm told our lovely stranger here did offer to negotiate longer breaks for you. Perhaps you should reconsider that proposal, no?" 

He glances down at Zagreus, who lies on the grass breathing hard and dizzy with how much he wants them, how much he loves them both. Hoarsely, he says, "It's an open offer, Achilles, sir."

"You hear that, my heart?" Patroclus takes his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist, his beard prickling the sensitive skin, and Zagreus whines. "You must admit he makes a compelling argument."

Achilles scoffs and kneels on the grass to slap Patroclus playfully on the shoulder, a gesture as familiar as the way he then takes Patroclus' chin in hand to kiss him. Zagreus can't help but admire how perfectly they fit against each other; he's riveted by the beautiful sounds they make, the same he's heard huddled by the entrance a dozen times before. 

When they part, Achilles looks down at him. "Well... Be that as it may, I'm here now."

He is. His eyes rove over Zagreus' body as if he can't help himself, and Zagreus shivers and reaches for him. Kisses him, and feels Achilles melt into it. He's real, as real as Patroclus' hands on his body and the warm rumble of his voice as he asks, "Are you starting to believe yet that you have us, Zagreus?"

Part of him still can't. But their hands on his skin are persuasive, and he's eager to be convinced.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stygiusfic) or [tumblr](https://stygiusfic.tumblr.com/). I'm only funny sometimes. Kudos and comments are very appreciated, as always!


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